To Love a Soldier
by hopewithfeathers
Summary: AU- Kurt's just a waiter at a small cafe trying to save up to go New York, that is until just-turned eighteen Blaine Anderson walks through the doors. They get by writing letters.


**Yes, I am aware this is another soldier fic. I just couldn't help it! I listened the song "Travelin' Soldier" the other day by the Dixie Chicks, and this story basically wrote itself. This is AU, but I kept Blaine and Kurt in character, except for the Blaine being a soldier thing :) Also, if you don't catch it at first, this is set during the 1970s, during the Vietnam war. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Kurt and Blaine. :(**

**Enjoy, and please review!**

Kurt hears the bell over Cru Café's door chime, but he doesn't look up. He's been trying for at least fifteen minutes to get this damn ketchup stain off the bar counter, but it must have been stuck here for eons because it just isn't _budging_. He sighs in frustration and tightens his grip around the rag. It's not like he has anyone to worry about anyway (well, other than the person who just walked in). They close in an hour, when the sun's just starting to set over the pier.

"Kurt, darling? Could you get that one for me please?" Carole's voice echoes towards the front of the café from the kitchen. Kurt grimaces—probably another problem with Dylan again. He shouldn't be working with food in the first place, but Carole is too kind for her own good.

"Yes, ma'am," he calls back. Kurt adjusts his apron and the notepad in the front pocket, turning around to greet the new customer. The man has his back to him, having already sat down in a booth near the window. He's wearing the familiar soldier cap that Kurt's seen for years now, and even from back here Kurt can see the green of his uniform and his rigid shoulders. Kurt inhales sharply, wishing he could rewind time and look up when the man walked in. God knows that these men already get enough grief as it is. Kurt walks briskly towards the man's table, brushing a strand of hair back from his face as he turns to meet his eyes.

"Hello, sir! I'm so sorry to keep you waiting! What can I do for you?" Kurt's voice is breathless and rushed, and he can feel the pink rising to his cheeks at the sound. Okay, so maybe the fact that he likes a man in uniform has something to do with his hasty help.

Kurt smiles when he catches the man's eye. Or, more accurately, _boy_. He looks young, maybe only eighteen or nineteen, with short curls peeking out from under his cap and wide, startled eyes. There are dark circles underneath them, and Kurt's face falls in sympathy.

"Um, just a coffee, please," he says. He twists his fingers together on the tabletop and ducks his head. Kurt frowns and hesitates.

"Are you sure?" he asks. "You don't want anything to eat?" Kurt lowers his head, trying to catch the boy's eye. "It's on the house, sir." Kurt knows this guy's only a few years older than him, but he's serving their country—sir seems appropriate. The soldier does look up this time, his cheeks a rosy color—it's very attractive on him. Actually, Kurt finds everything about him attractive. The boy smiles, sweet and shy, and Kurt can almost feel his heart stutter.

"Actually…" he clears his throat. "would you mind…?"

"Kurt."

"Kurt." There's that smile again. "I'm Blaine. Would you mind sitting with me for a while, Kurt?" Kurt knows his expression is shocked, and he freezes for a moment. Blaine seems to fold in on himself, backing away in the booth, the soft grin leaving his face. He's desperately apologetic. "I mean, if you're busy…oh god, I'm sorry, of course you're busy, you're working—"

"Blaine." Kurt's surprised at how easily the name rolls of his tongue, and he's momentarily embarrassed. This guy's obviously older than him, and a soldier for gods sake, he should be more respectful. But Blaine stops rambling instantly, and Kurt sees his lips twitch. He gestures around to the empty café, rolling his eyes with a grin. "Do I look like I'm busy to you? I'd love to sit with you." Kurt blushes—he isn't _that_ eager. Or at least he doesn't want to seem so.

This time Blaine's smile lights up the whole dingy café, and it only widens when Kurt slides into the booth across from him. Blaine beams bashfully, and Kurt thinks that has to be the cutest damn thing he's ever seen. It makes Blaine look even younger. They're both quiet for a moment, just staring at each other, but for some reason it's not uncomfortable.

"I'm just kind of down, you know?" Blaine says. "I have to catch the bus in two hours."

"The bus…" Kurt says. "Oh, the bus."

"Yeah."

"So…so you don't want…" Kurt stops. This is absolutely none of his business—he doesn't even know Blaine. Blaine watches him for a moment, as if debating whether or not to tell him. Kurt studies the surface of the table until Blaine clears his throat.

"I don't think any of us really _want_ to, Kurt," Blaine says. "But…no. I didn't sign up for this voluntarily." Blaine stares at Kurt for a second before something suddenly seems to occur to him—his lips part slightly and his eyes go wide. They're already so wide, Kurt thinks. Wide and big, like a bushbaby.

"How…how old are you?" Blaine asks. Kurt glances at him—the blush is rising in Blaine's cheeks, and he looks…worried? No, Kurt scoffs. Why would he be worried?

"Sixteen," Kurt says.

"So that's why you're not drafted." Blaine nods in understanding. He must have just turned eighteen, Kurt thinks. "Will you talk to me?" he asks. Kurt's monetarily taken aback by the soft urgency in his voice. "Talk to me about anything. Anything that's not this." Kurt bites his lip. He wishes he could reach across the café table and cup Blaine's face in his hands, if only to rub the anxious creases out of his cheeks and forehead. Kurt's gaze flits once around the otherwise deserted café. He stands up, and Blaine looks endearingly panicked. Like he said something to make Kurt leave. Kurt grins and shakes his head.

"I'm off in an hour," he says. "Let me finish cleaning up here, and we can walk down by the pier. Is that okay?"

And god, Blaine looks absolutely delighted. Kurt feels like he just asked the man on a date. Blaine nods.

"Yes. Yes, that's perfect."

Kurt brings Blaine his cup of coffee, and even adds a piece of freshly baked bread and a bowl of potato soup. He doesn't want Blaine to go hungry, so he shoots him disapproving looks until Blaine chuckles and gives in, lifting the spoon to his lips.

X

After Kurt turns down Blaine's money a ridiculous amount of times, and also gets Carole to shoo him out with a wink and a "it's on the house, dear, of course," Kurt and Blaine finally make their way out of the café and down the block towards the pier.

"So, you like working at the café?" Blaine asks softly. Kurt smiles.

"Yes. Carole's great. And I'm just saving up money for college, anyway." Kurt knows he practically bouncing with excitement, but Blaine glances at him and his smile is so sweet that Kurt can't believe he's the cause of it. "I want to go to school in New York."

"Wow," Blaine says, impressed. "New York is amazing, though. I've been there once. What do you want to study?"

"I want to be a fashion designer," Kurt says, ducking his head. Blaine looks Kurt up and down, noticing the slightly rolled bottoms off his pants and the way the scarf around his neck compliments the off-white of his shirt. Even in uniform, Kurt finds little ways to make an outfit his own.

"Well, you certainly have an eye for it," Blaine compliments. Kurt blushes all the way down to his toes. Blaine doesn't even know him, but yet he's more decent towards him than a lot of people he's known his whole life. "I love the scarf." Blaine gives Kurt a significant look, and Kurt just _knows. _The fluttery feeling that was threating to consume his stomach earlier finally erupts.

"Thank you," Kurt says softly. They pass a few benches on their way to the end of the pier, but they both ignore them. A few children laugh and their parents watch, but other than that there's no one further down the dock. When they come to edge they sit down, and Kurt doesn't fail to notice that Blaine sits close enough so that their arms can brush together.

Kurt's all panicky, suddenly, because he doesn't even know this guy, and isn't he a little old for him? At least that's what his dad would say. Kurt can practically hear his disapproving tone. And he's leaving to go to war, for gods sake. He shouldn't be feeling this, and he definitely shouldn't be flirting and encouraging Blaine. But when he looks over, Blaine is staring out towards the ocean, his eyes sad and scared. Kurt's heart flips.

"I'm sorry," Blaine says. "I'm sorry. I know…I know this is really forward of me, and I haven't really even asked you on a date, or even if you _want _to go on a date. Or, oh god, you probably have a boyfriend, _of course_ you have a boyfriend…oh my god, are you even gay? I just assumed, I'm such an _ass_, I'm sorry—"

Kurt thinks he should probably interrupt before Blaine talks himself into an aneurism or something. With a bout of courage, he loops his left arm through Blaine's, tugging him just a little bit closer. He forgets their age difference, he forgets that Blaine's leaving, he just focuses on them and how good and warm Blaine's arm feels around his.

"Blaine," Kurt says. His voice comes out a lot more amused than he intended it to, but he laughs anyway. "Calm down. Yes, I'm gay, and it's really obvious, so I don't blame you. And it's not. Forward, I mean."

"And the boyfriend?" Blaine's cheeks are pink now, the color curling up around his ears in the most adorable way. Kurt's smile widens to show a sliver of teeth.

"Doesn't exist," Kurt says, laughing at the way Blaine's shoulders slump in relief. Kurt's heart is pounding and his pulse buzzes under his skin. He's never had this feeling before, he's never felt so strongly about someone he's just met. Blaine meets his eyes this time, the shyness slowly fading away to warmth.

"I was wondering something," he says. Kurt waits. "I know that we can't…I can't stay here, but I was wondering if I could write you letters. I don't really have anyone else to write letters to, and if you wanted…I'd like to." Blaine groans a little, rubbing his forehead, and Kurt giggles. Okay, so Blaine is obviously a rambler. And maybe it's also really, really cute.

"I…yes. Yes, I would like that a lot," Kurt admits. Blaine smiles and tightens his arm around Kurt's. They both turn their gazes back to the water. "I'll write down my address for you when we pass by the café again. I don't think Carole will have locked it up yet."

Kurt tells Blaine things about himself that he's never told anyone. He talks about his dead mother, about his dad, and how scared he still is sometimes that he'll lose him. He tells Blaine all the happy things, too. About his dreams in New York and the singing club at his school that's basically the only good thing about the place. Blaine smiles and watches Kurt with rapt attention, but Kurt still feels like he's talking too much.

"Tell me about you," Kurt says. "Please." Blaine shrugs.

"Not much to tell. My parents have practically disowned me and my brother is already off in Vietnam. They're the only family I have. I…I like to sing, too," he says quietly. "I actually want to major in music. You know, be a music teacher, or something. Or if I'm good enough, write my own music."

"You would be so good at it." Kurt doesn't know why he says it, because of course he knows nothing about Blaine's abilities or has even heard him sing, but it just sort of slips out. Blaine gives him an amused look. "Sing something for me," Kurt demands.

"I will if you will." Once Kurt nods his consent, Blaine thinks until he can decide on a song. Kurt laughs when he starts humming the beginning notes of 'Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay.' He listens as Blaine sings the first verse, and his instinct was right, of course—Blaine's voice is stunning, soft and low, with a sweet roll on the end of each line. Kurt joins in on the refrain, swinging his legs back and fourth off the dock.

"_I'm sittin' on the dock of the bay, watching the tide roll away. Ooo, I'm just sittin' on the dock of the bay, wasting time_."

Their voices blend perfectly together—they sound amazing, but Blaine stops after only the second verse. He sounds breathless and a little choked when he speaks.

"Your voice is beautiful," he tells Kurt. "I could listen to it all day." Kurt beams at him, sliding his hand out of the crook of Blaine's arm so that he can tangle their fingers. He studies Blaine's face to see if it's okay, and Blaine's entire face lights up.

"Thank you. Your voice is amazing, Blaine. I can now say, with conviction, that you can make it in the music business." Blaine laughs, squeezing Kurt's hand.

"There's this really cool karaoke bar up the road," Blaine says. "I could get you in, the bouncer likes me. If you wanted to, we could go sometime. They have fantastic sweet potato fries." Kurt smiles, even though he knows there's no guarantee on when Blaine can take him.

"Are you asking me on a date, Blaine?"

"Yes," Blaine says confidently and puffs his chest out a little, making Kurt laugh. "I owe you a date, Kurt."

"I'll hold you to that," Kurt says.

Later on, they walk back up the pier together. Kurt makes a short run into the café for a piece of paper and a pen, writing down his address and phone number (just in case) and tucking into the front pocket of Blaine's uniform. Kurt sees Blaine off to the bus with a tight hug and a soft kiss to his cheek. He feels immeasurably sad, and probably a lot more terrified than he should be for Blaine's life. He tries to hide it with a smile and shoves his trembling hands into his pant pockets. He knows Blaine can see right through him, though. Blaine flails a little before latching onto Kurt's hand and rubbing his thumb over his knuckles.

"Thank you," Blaine says fervently. "Really, Kurt. You helped me so much, just by talking to me."

"I'm glad," Kurt replies. He winces—his voice is a little strangled. "Just…be safe, okay? Please."

"Of course." Blaine rubs his knuckles again, before taking his hand away. "I will. I'm so happy I met you, Kurt.

"Don't," Kurt says, upset. "Don't talk like you're..." he swallows. "You still owe me that date, remember?"

"I remember. We'll go, I promise." Blaine presses his warm lips to Kurt's cheek before walking towards the bus, where the soldiers had already started to load. He walks backwards, waving at Kurt the whole way, and Kurt has to laugh, ignoring the tears burning in the backs of his eyes. He watches when Blaine sits down, watches when the bus pulls out onto the street, until he can't even see the headlights anymore in the orange glow of the setting sun.

X

The letters come on crumpled paper, in Blaine's slightly messy handwriting. Kurt has to squint at some of the words to make them out, but it just makes him smile. Something more he knows about Blaine that he can file away. The first time, his dad finds the letter first. Burt sets it down in front of Kurt at the kitchen table, practically on top of Kurt's toast.

"What's that Kurt?" Burt doesn't sound suspicious or demanding, just curious. "Why are you getting a letter from an army camp?" Kurt places a hand on Burt's arm reassuringly—his voice is nervous suddenly, like the country would just up and decide to lower the age a boy has to be for drafting.

"I…I met a guy," Kurt starts shyly. "At the café, when I was working a few weeks ago. It's nothing—he just doesn't have anyone to write to, so I told him he could write to me." And it is nothing. _Yet_, Kurt adds mentally. But he doesn't have to freak his dad out right now. Now Burt looks suspicious, though.

"Isn't he a little old for you, Kurt?"

"No!" Kurt sputters. "Dad! I just told you, it's nothing. And he's only, like, eighteen." Even though Kurt doesn't know, not really. But his dad doesn't need to know that.

"With you it's never nothing," Burt says gruffly, turning his back and walking into the living room. Kurt wants to yell after him, demanding what he means—he's never even had a boyfriend. It's not like there's that many boys to choose from in Charleston, South Carolina. But he knows if he did, he would seem defensive, and he doesn't want his dad prying even more. He also has a letter to open.

He tears at the envelope with vigor, almost ripping up the letter in the process. It's not too long, only a page. Kurt stares longer than he should at the way Blaine writes his name—how pointed the 'k' is and how Blaine slightly curls the tail of the 't.' But he reads on, his lips turning up.

Dear Kurt,

I'm sorry it took so long for me to write you! We're training right now, which is really intense. I'm in California, though. I've never been here, but the ride through San Francisco was beautiful. Who knows, maybe I'll live here someday. I hear they have good music schools here.

I'm sorry, I'm rambling again. I tend to do that when I'm nervous, I guess. Or when I'm talking to you. Is it weird if I miss you? I know we only talked for an hour, but I've never connected with someone so quickly. Or ever, really. I'm not trying to be a silly romantic idiot, I promise. I'm just naturally that way.

Anyway. The drill sergeants here are really rude, and my bed feels like a rock. It really sucks. But I don't really want to talk about that. I just want to talk about you. I mean, hear you talk to me about you. God that sounded awful. But I can't because were writing, and it's kind of hard.

I want to know all about you, Kurt. Honestly. You're like the most interesting person I've ever met. I want to know your favorite foods, your favorite color, everything that you think is trivial. Because, to me, it's not. And in return, if you want to know, I'll do the same. We'll be like pen pals! I've always wanted one.

I wish I could be there. I wish I wasn't here. I don't have anything against people who defend our country, I promise. I feel honored to be doing it, I just don't think I have what it takes. I don't know if I can kill a person, Kurt.

I wish I was there so I could take you to that karaoke bar, and we could sing together again. I wish I could sit on the pier and watch the sunset, like we didn't get to do before. And we will!

I still owe you a date, Kurt. I didn't forget.

Blaine

Kurt blinks back tears when he's done reading Blaine's letter. Blaine's so sweet, and not in a way that creeps Kurt out. Maybe it should creep him out, like Blaine said, they only talked for about an hour. But it doesn't. He feels the same way Blaine does—he wants to get to know him more. So, so much. So he writes him back. He tells Blaine how sorry he is that he has to be there. He doesn't think he could kill anyone, either. And Blaine's not being a cheesy romantic idiot—Kurt likes it. He's a silly romantic himself.

He tells him how much he wants him here, too. That he's never had a boyfriend before, but if he could choose, he would want it to be Blaine. Okay, so he doesn't write that down (he's still a little nervous, and they haven't even gone _out_ yet), but he hints at it. And he does tell Blaine all his favorites. That his favorite food _ever_ is cheesecake (he doesn't care if that doesn't count), he likes blue or red, depending on the day, and he loves to bake. He loves to bake anything, really. He goes out on a limb and tells Blaine that he'll bake him something when he comes home—anything he wants. He agonizes over how to sign the ending of his letter. Should he say 'love?' He doesn't love Blaine, obviously, but everyone signs letters like that these days. Sincerely sounds too formal. In the end, Kurt just signs his name at the bottom like Blaine did. He has the envelope sealed and out in the mailbox in the matter of an hour, and Burt gives him a judgmental look. Kurt just gives him a scowl.

As the weeks go by, Kurt starts to get more and more attached to Blaine and his letters. They get to know each other, really get to know each other, and Kurt tells Blaine things he thought he'd never tell to anyone, especially not a near stranger.

But no. Kurt doesn't think that anymore. They're not strangers. There's nothing he looks forward to more than one of Blaine's letters, except maybe the war ending. And they never run out of things to talk about—it's never boring.

One day, Kurt bounces joyously back from the front porch, clutching an envelope in his hand. Burt's caught on by now, and he gives Kurt an eye roll, but Kurt's not fooled. He catches his dad smiling when he thinks Kurt isn't looking. He sees the familiar handwriting and squeals, just slightly.

Dear Kurt,

I am so sorry, Kurt. I can't believe those assholes are giving you problems at school! You should be the last one they pick on (not that they should pick on anybody)! You're so beautiful, Kurt. I mean it. Don't ever let them change what you think about yourself. You're amazing, and special, and they don't know anything. Anything, Kurt. If I was there, I'd kick their asses. Right now, no questions asked.

I am so very sorry, that is so ungentlemanly of me (if you didn't get it, I'm rolling my eyes here)! But really, people are looking at me weird because I'm smiling too much and laughing at myself when I write to you. There's nothing that gets me through these days better than you do.

We're going to Vietnam tomorrow, though. Finally, I guess. Not that I want to go. I'm actually. God I'm really scared, Kurt. And I only tell you this because I know that we tell each other things we don't tell anyone else. We're always honest. I'm SO scared, Kurt. Not of dying, I guess. More of the pain. I've never been good with pain. And thinking of all the things I haven't gotten to do yet! I didn't even get to go to college, or have a family, or take you on that date I'm supposed to take you on. And god I beat myself up everyday that I didn't kiss you when I had the chance. Because you never really know, do you?

But it's okay. Because whenever I get scared or it gets bad over here, I think of that day when we walked down the pier. I close my eyes, and I can see your smile, and it's so pretty. I can still remember it perfectly.

But thank you for telling me about the bullying. I know that had to be hard for you. I only wish I could be there, so I could actually do something. I want to do something so bad. But really, you should tell your dad, Kurt. I know it might be overstepping, but you really should. I hate to see you scared, and I don't want you to get hurt. And I'm positive your dad doesn't want that either.

Keep your chin up, Kurt! Keep smiling. God that sounds cheesy. But really. You're gorgeous. Have courage, and never forget who you are.

Love (yeah, I'm taking that step),

Blaine

Kurt's crying so hard by the end of Blaine's letter, that he can hardly make out the words. He laughs at the ending of the letter, but he feels his heart soar at the small scrawled 'love' that, for some reason, means so much to him. Burt comes strolling into the kitchen, and his eyes widen almost comically at the tears all down Kurt's face.

"Kurt? Bud, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Kurt says, chuckling wetly. "I just. Blaine's really sweet and he told me I should…well. I sort of have to tell you something. No, I do. I have to tell you something." Burt hesitates near the counter Kurt's leaning against. He looks like he wants to pull Kurt into his arms and run away at the same time. Kurt beams at him, and he relaxes, if only slightly. "Dad…um. Something's been happening at school. I don't want it to worry you, because I'm okay, but I just have to tell you."

Kurt explains to his dad about Karofsky, something that maybe shouldn't be a big deal but it so _is,_ because Kurt's scared everyday at school and he can hardly take it anymore. Kurt starts sobbing about halfway through his explanation, and Burt tugs him into the fold of his arms, rocking him back and forth and thanking whoever this Blaine kid is that he'd convinced Kurt to talk to him.

But one thing is for sure. Burt's not going to just stand by and let Kurt bullied. This is his kid, goddammit, and he's not going to stand for him getting pushed around.

"I'll talk to the school," Burt says roughly. "This is ridiculous. They can't ignore something like this. Okay, kiddo? You're safe, I promise."

"I love you, Dad," Kurt whimpers, clinging tighter to Burt's flannel shirt.

X

Kurt writes Blaine a Christmas letter, even though he doesn't even know if Blaine celebrates Christmas. Which he then asks, of course. Kurt's not very religious himself, but Christmas has always been a sacred tradition for him and Burt, especially since his mother died. He knows there is probably no snow where Blaine is, but South Carolina actually got an inch this year, so Kurt takes a picture and includes it with his letter. The picture is of him standing in front of their small house, with an excited expression on his face, because _snow_ and _scarves_, and oh my god, he finally gets to wear gloves! Burt takes the picture, and he doesn't even ask who it's for, anymore. Kurt can tell his dad has at least somewhat accepted this thing between him and Blaine (whatever it is), because he actually asks how Blaine's doing sometimes. Kurt always answers with a smile and a breathless quiver in his voice. Burt shoots him knowing looks, like, _nothing _my ass_, kiddo_.

Blaine writes back, and this letter is such a furry of "Oh god Kurt, that picture," and "you look so beautiful" and "I love it so much, it made my entire _year_," that Kurt makes sure to include a picture of himself in every letter from then on. He wants to do everything he can to make Blaine's time in Vietnam easier. He still can't even think Blaine's time at _war._ He just can't, it makes him sick to his stomach. He tells Blaine so, and that he's so worried he could _die_. Kurt and Blaine don't deny it anymore—over these many months, they've become best friends, even if they didn't mean to. Kurt has friends at school, but no one he can talk to like Blaine. No one he can share himself with.

And Blaine tells him as soon as he gets home he's going to run at Kurt and hug him so hard that he'll explode. Kurt laughs, but neither of them write what they're really thinking—Blaine could _never _come back. Kurt doesn't let himself think that way often, but sometimes when he's lying in bed at night and can't fall asleep, it's hard not to think about. He thinks about Blaine, scared, but so, so brave, and in danger, and he can't help but sob into his pillow and pray and pray and pray, even though he doesn't believe in God. Just in case.

This is the one thing he doesn't tell Blaine. He tells Blaine he's scared for him, of course, but he doesn't tell him about lying awake at night, terrified, and sometimes even having nightmares that this wonderful boy will be taken away before they even really get to start.

Kurt knows he's falling, hard and fast, he _knows_. But he refuses to say it out loud, even to himself, until one day he gets a letter from Blaine that basically says everything he's thinking:

Kurt I. I really don't' know what this is. All I know is that you're my best friend and I really, really care about you ( I won't say it in a letter, I won't), and I've never fallen for someone so fast and so strongly before. I just. want to know if you feel it too, I guess. If you don't', feel free to stop writing me and never speak to me again, if you want. Oh god. But I have to ask.

Kurt, do you think it's possible to fall in love with the idea of loving someone? All I know is I think about loving you and there's nothing I want more. Nothing. I wish I was with you so badly it hurts.

Kurt stares at those two small paragraphs so long that his eyes start to burn. He thought Blaine might feel the same way, but he never dared to hope he felt this much. This is what Kurt feels—the desperate ache to love someone he knows he supposed to love, someone he wants to love with everything he has. Blaine signs the letter "Yours," and Kurt squeals, if only just a little. He assures Blaine that no, he's not alone in this, and that yes, _yes_ he does think it's possible to fall in love with the idea of loving someone. Kurt knows he already has. He signs his letter with "Always," just to be different, and to make Blaine feel good, too.

Carole asks him about Blaine all the time at work. At first, Kurt's confused, because as far as Carole knows, Kurt and Blaine just walked down the pier that one warm day in November. He asks her how she knows about he and Blaine's letters, and Carole grins.

"Your father has been telling me all about your little friend, Kurt."

Kurt raises his eyebrows in surprise. Since when does his dad talk to his boss? Something about the dreamy look in Carole's eyes tells Kurt all he needs to know. He goes back to wiping counters, smiling softly down at that damn ketchup stain on the bar. He knows his dad has been sad lately, and he's glad he can find happiness. Even if Carole's not his mom.

X

The day Kurt never forgets is at one of his school's football games, of all things. There are a lot of things that South Charleston is awful at, and football is one of them. But he's going because his dad asked him to come. It's actually really nice, a sort of family date with his dad and Carole. Carole's son, Finn, plays on the football team, so of course Burt thought it would be a brilliant idea to come watch and drag Kurt along with him. He's trying not to complain too much. He may not like football, but he gets to wear a fabulous scarf, so it evens out really. He rolls his eyes as the players crash headlong into each other in a way that cannot be anything less than painful, and the crowd cheering them on. He plots his next letter to Blaine in his head, making a mental checklist of significant moments that will make Blaine laugh. Like when some asshole starts yelling rude slurs across the field towards their team, only to turn back around with a satisfied smirk and promptly trip, falling right on his ass. Or when a man behind Kurt spills his nacho cheese all over the lady next to him—okay, so Kurt almost has a panic attack because he thought the cheese hit him, too. He won't leave that out in his story to Blaine.

It's during halftime when it happens. Kurt's munching on a handful of Carole's popcorn, when the announcer for the football game goes marching out onto the field, carrying a microphone and a piece of paper.

"Hello, everyone, " he says in a serious voice. "I know this game is about having fun, but I want to take a moment to honor those who serve our country. They are very brave, and without them, we wouldn't be safe."

Kurt bows his head along with the entire section of people on the bleachers, feeling that unavoidable lump in his throat. His eyes start to prickle.

"But here tonight," the announcer goes on, "we need to honor the men from the 1st Platoon, squad number two."

Oh god. What. Kurt's going to puke.

"An enemy force attacked their camp a couple nights ago," the man says grimly. "They were captured—no one was left behind. At this time, we cannot be sure what will happen to prisoners. But survivors are unlikely." Kurt hears a woman gasp and start sobbing over the roaring in his ears. Because he knows exactly what happens to prisoners. He watches the news. He's seen the way the Vietnamese soldiers slaughter their prisoners. He knows they can count the men of 1st Platoon, squad number two almost certainly dead. "We honor them, we respect them, and we will forever remember what they did for us."

The announcer begins to read out the soldier's names, and Burt and Carole are looking at Kurt, looking for any sign that it's Blaine's, but they don't know, and Kurt can't even speak. He's staring straight ahead, the nausea filling his stomach and clogging his throat. He can feel himself shaking, his heart pounding, but he just feels shocked, numb, he can't—

"Blaine Anderson," the announcer reads.

It's like a cue. The dam breaks, and Kurt's face crumples. He curls in on himself and clutches at his stomach, sobbing so loud that he scares even himself. He can hear other people crying too, they had son's there, probably, but he can't focuses on them. He knows people are staring at him, but he doesn't _care_. He hates them, he hates all of them, and why do they have to live here? Why does the stupid war have to exist, why did Blaine have to go when he didn't even want to? It's all stupid_, stupid_, he can't _breathe_.

"Kurt." His dad reaches out, his touch light and gentle, but Kurt jerks away. He can't be here right now, he can't stand all these people looking at him, he can't stand the way the announcer read Blaine's name like it was no different than any of those other hundreds of men. He can't, and his stomach hurts, and now he's certain he's going to throw up.

"Oh, Kurt, honey." Carole sounds heartbroken.

Kurt runs. He tramples as fast as he can down the bleacher stairs, hardly watching where he's going. He can't see anyway, his vision is cloudy with tears. He ignores his dad and Carole calling his name and keeps running. He runs behind the stands and under them, collapsing with a crunch into the gravel. He's never sat on the ground if he could help it in his life, which just makes him more hysterical. Only when the band starts playing again and the cheers and yelling start up does Kurt allow himself to fully let go.

He should've known, he should've fucking _known_. Blaine hadn't written to him for three weeks, and although it isn't unheard of, it isn't the norm, and Kurt didn't even think about it. He thought Blaine was safe. Isn't he supposed to know this kind of thing? Aren't you supposed to _feel_ it when someone you love is ripped away from you?

He doesn't know how long he sits under the stands, ruining his favorite pair of jeans, crying and crying until he feels numb and his throat burns with overuse. He swallows thickly and stands up on shaky legs, rubbing more tears from his cheeks. He starts walking, away from the football stadium and back into town. He doesn't even know where he's going until he wanders onto the pier, walking down the dock, _their_ dock, and sits on the edge. He dangles his feet over the end of it, swinging them back and fourth and watching the water ripple. He starts to sing, soft and croaky, his voice echoing over the water.

"_I'm sittin' on the dock of the bay, watching the tide roll away. Ooo, I'm just sittin' on the dock of the bay, wasting time_."

X

The war ends two months later. Kurt celebrates with everyone else, goes to the parades thrown in the streets, and allows himself to be happy again.

For the first time, he allows himself to hope.

He's working at Cru, wiping down tables and straightening the napkins, anything to keep his hands busy. Carole's tied up in the kitchen again, because she just cannot find it in her heart to fire Dylan. Kurt rolls his eyes every time she mentions him, shrugging sheepishly. He really has got to teach is future step mom and thing or two about speaking her mind (after all, the wedding is going to happen any week, now).

He looks up when the bell chimes. He does a double take, his stomach swooping, when his eyes land on a man. But no, Kurt corrects himself. This man is too tall, and his hair is straight. He stands with confidence, not shy like Blaine was. Kurt still stares at him though, shocked by the resemblance. He has the same face, the same half-smile, and somehow he carries himself the same way Blaine did, all swaying hips. Kurt shakes himself and readies his notepad.

"Hello." Kurt's voice squeaks a little. "Um, what can I get for you today? Take a seat anywhere you'd like." The man smiles at him, sitting down in one of the booths, sliding all the way over to the window.

"I'll have the scrambled eggs with toast," he fires off immediately. "And bacon, if you've got it." Kurt stares, his pen poised, still, over the notepad. The man talks the same way Blaine did, his mouth moves the same way, somehow, and how in the _hell _does Kurt even notice something like that?

"Hey, um…you okay, man?" the guys asks. Kurt jumps and blushes hard.

"I…yes! I'm sorry, I just." Kurt sighs. He should probably just tell his guy before he thinks he's interested in him or something—Kurt's never seen a guy who looks more straight in his life. He has on a pair of sweatpants and a rumpled t-shirt, his hair sticking up everywhere, like he just rolled out of bed. "I'm sorry," Kurt tries again. "You just look a lot like a guy I know, that's all. Knew. Kind of. I mean, not exactly, but you just sort of…act the same." Kurt groans a little. God, and he feels like he might start crying again.

"Whoa, slow down," the guy says, smiling a little. "Relax, man, I can tell from here that you're tense as hell."

"Sorry," Kurt says, even though he doesn't know why. "I'll get your order in right away." He gives the man's order to the kitchen staff and goes back around to the front of the café. A voice startles him out of his daze.

"Hey, Kurt!"

"Oh, hey, Rachel." Kurt smiles. "What's up?"

"Oh nothing, nothing. I'm just hungry. Hey, how are you holding up?"

"I'm okay," Kurt says, a little too quickly. Rachel's his friend, and he loves her, but he doesn't want to talk about this. And she knows it. "I hardly knew him, Rach." Which isn't true, it isn't true at all.

"Kurt, I know you and Blaine were really close. You told me about him, remember? But I think Blaine—"

The man behind Rachel's table clears his throat, snapping his head up to stare at them. Rachel glares, even though she interrupts people's conversations all the time. The man's eyes are wide, god, those same huge eyes that Blaine had. Like a bushbaby. He remembers.

"Did you…did you say Blaine?" Cooper chokes out. He looks like he might faint or something, and Kurt rushes over on instinct. His hand hovers over the man's shoulder, ready to steady him.

"Are you okay…" Kurt says. And then, "Wait, what?"

"Did you say Blaine?" Cooper says urgently.

"Yes?"

"Blaine who?"

"Blaine A-Anderson," Kurt stutters. And then he suddenly remembers one of his and Blaine's only conversations: _my brother is already off in Vietnam. _Kurt gasps, and he knows. How did he not see it before? This man is so clearly Blaine's brother. It's so surreal that Kurt thinks _he_ might faint. He clutches the edge of the table, his knuckles white. Rachel looks wildly back and fourth between them, confused.

"I'm Cooper," the man whispers. "I'm Blaine's brother. As long as we're talking about the same person? Short, dark curly hair, constantly smiling?" Kurt laughs shakily.

"Yeah," he says, swallowing. "Yeah, Blaine. I'm Kurt. Nice to meet you, Cooper."

"So…you knew him?" Cooper asks. "From school or something?"

"No," Kurt says. "I met him the day he left. We talked for a while and we—we wrote letters back and fourth."

"Wow," Cooper says, sinking down a little in his seat. "That's—that's amazing. Thank you for doing that."

"It was my pleasure." Kurt's voice goes high and squeaky, and he winces. "Really."

"I'm sorry," Cooper says after a minute.

The weight of hope vanishes at once from Kurt's chest. In these few precious minutes, he'd been hoping, somehow, that Cooper would smile and say, "Oh! He's come home, I'll tell him to stop by!" But of course he isn't. Blaine would stop in and see Kurt, wouldn't he? Kurt gives Cooper a forced smile and bites hard at his lip.

"No, _I'm_ sorry," Kurt says. "He was your brother."

"Don't do that." Cooper jerks his head up to meet Kurt's eyes. His expression is stern, full of fire. "Don't give up. I still haven't." Kurt bites his lip, and feels his eyes burning. He ducks his head, picking at a stain on his apron. "Blaine's a fighter, Kurt. He wouldn't go down without a fight."

Kurt wants to believe him, he _does._ Somewhere deep in his heart he still hopes, every single day. He still raises his head and aches when the customer that walks through the café's doors isn't Blaine. But he's also realistic, and the war's over, yet the missing soldiers still haven't returned.

But Cooper glares at him, though not menacingly enough that Kurt's offended, his eyes filled with so much conviction that Kurt feels that stupid hope rise to the surface again.

"I would know if he was dead," Cooper says. "I would feel it."

Kurt nods, and he does understand now. Everyone always believes that when a loved one is dead, they'll _know. _They'll feel that emptiness, feel their loved one's presence leaving the world. But Kurt knows better. When his mom died in a car accident all those years ago, he didn't feel it. He thought she was coming home. And when his dad came home and told him, he still didn't believe it.

It took Kurt _days_ to feel it, and even then, it was only because he knew she was dead. He still sensed her everywhere, even when he didn't want to. But he smiles at Cooper, even if it's a little strained.

"I'll go check on your food," he says. It's the least he can do, to make sure Cooper's food is the way he wants it. Cooper's eyes follow him, but Kurt doesn't look back.

X

"Kurt, honey, would you mind closing up for me today?" Carole comes bustling out of the back room, removing her apron in record time hanging it on the peg behind the bar. "Your father and I want to get a head start to Myrtle Beach." Kurt smiles from the other side of the café, twisting the rag in his hands as he straightens up.

"Of course. No problem. Just leave the keys for me." Carole beams back at him gratefully.

"I already got Dylan to clean up the kitchen, so the just front and you'll be good to go. Be careful walking home, alright?"

"Always am," Kurt responds. "Have fun on your honeymoon."

"Thanks, sweetheart." Carole crosses the room to place a kiss on the top of his head. "We'll see you in a week. Look after Finn, alright? Make sure he doesn't get into any trouble."

"Or burn down the house," Kurt jokes. Carole shakes her head at him, but her lips are pursed in a barely concealed smile. "I will, don't worry." Carole thanks him again, gives him a tight hug, and then she's out the door, the bell clanging after her. Kurt watches until she rounds the corner and he can't see her anymore before going back to wiping down tables. He only has about five more to go, and then he'll be out of here.

Kurt twists sideways to pop his back and squints against the orange glow of the setting sun through the window. It's nearly seven.

The familiar ringing sounds as the door opens, and Kurt sighs. He wipes his hands on his apron, turning to meet the person's eyes. The male figure is bathed in shadow, but Kurt doesn't even think of being scared.

"I'm sorry sir, we're actually closed—"

The figure steps forward, into the last bit of sunlight. He's short, with a face full of stubble, but his smile and eyes are unmistakable. Kurt inhales sharply, his heart jumping to his throat and throbbing painfully there.

"B-Blaine...?" Kurt watches in awe as the corner of Blaine's eyes crinkle up and he shows a flash of teeth.

"So you do remember me," he says quietly. His voice is hoarse, and he clears his throat. "I was afraid you wouldn't." Blaine steps closer, but he still seems hesitant.

"How could I forget you?" Kurt breathes. His voice is thick with tears, and the first start to slip down his cheeks. "Of course I remember you. I-I have all your letters in a drawer by my bed." Kurt's aware this is probably too much information, but he can't seem to stop babbling. He doesn't know what to do—the man he was sure was dead just walked through the door. Blaine lurches forward at Kurt's small sob, but he still stands a few feet away, reaching out a hand before dropping it to his side again.

"I was wondering," Blaine says, and Kurt stares at him incredulously. Why is he just standing there? "I know I'm a little late, but I…I hope I can still take you on that date."

Kurt sobs again, nodding vigorously. He can't move, but he wishes Blaine would so he can hold him. His hands extend to him, and he clenches his hands into fists when they tremble.

"Yes, yes, I want to go on a date with you, Blaine. I want to go on a million dates with you. Why are you just _standing_ there?" Blaine's eyes fill with tears then, and he finally, _finally _stumbles forward, closing Kurt in the fold of his arms.

Kurt gasps when Blaine's warmth surrounds him. He wraps his arms around Blaine's neck and buries his face in the hallow of his throat. Blaine doesn't smell like he expected, like dirt. Instead, he smells like vanilla and sunlight—Kurt inhales deeply, whimpering against Blaine's shoulder. God, he's probably overreacting, but he doesn't care. Blaine pulls back just slightly to look at Kurt's face, but Kurt shakes his head and clings even tighter to him.

"I'm sorry," Kurt mumbles. "But I'm not letting you go." Blaine chuckles thickly, and Kurt is relived that he's emotional about this, too.

"I'm okay with that," he whispers against Kurt's cheek. "I missed you."

"How long have you been home?" Kurt just realizes Blaine isn't in his uniform, instead in a pair of stylish trousers and a sweater.

"Since last night," Blaine says softly. "I would've come sooner, but I knew you would've already been asleep. And today…I wanted to surprise you when no one else was here."

"I love you" is on the tip of Kurt's tongue, but he bites it back. He wants to save it for when he's sure, for when he's positive he's in love with the Blaine that's right here in front of him, and not just his words on a piece of paper.

"I…thank you," Kurt says. "God, are you okay? You don't have to talk about it, just…are you okay?"

"Yeah," Blaine says. His eyes are cloudy when Kurt lifts his head to meet them, but he looks sincere enough. "I'm okay. I'm great, actually." Kurt laughs shakily.

"Kurt. Can I…can I kiss you?"

"Yes. Oh god, yes. Blaine, please."

Blaine's lips are soft and warm. It's just a soft touch of skin at first, and Kurt sighs against his mouth. This kiss feels so long overdue, so waited for, but how is this much feeling for someone even possible? It's Kurt who deepens the kiss, dropping his jaw and licking cautiously against Blaine's lips.

And suddenly, the kiss isn't careful at all. Blaine whines against him and Kurt's heart stutters. He twines his fingers into Blaine's now long curls, tugging a little, anything to make Blaine make that noise forever. It's desperate and hard, there are gasps muffled into each other's mouths and hands trailing to necks, down backs, and curled around hips. Kurt's never really kissed a boy before, but he's certain this is what it's supposed to feel like. Like want and love and _home_. Blaine pulls back when he can't breathe anymore, his chest heaving. His smile is brilliant and his eyes shine with unashamed joy.

"Wow," Blaine says. Kurt laughs breathlessly and rolls his eyes a little.

"Yeah," he says anyway. "Yeah."

"Come out with me."

"Right now?"

"Yes. Yes, now. Please. That karaoke bar is practically calling our names. And I want to hear your voice again. Just listen." Kurt bites his lips and lowers his eyes, but he can't hide his smile. And he doesn't want to.

"I'd love to. Just let me close up."

As soon as Kurt pulls the key out of the lock, jiggling the doorknob of the café door to make sure, Blaine's taking his hand. He twines their fingers together, squeezing so hard that it hurts. But Kurt doesn't mind. Not at all.

"Is this okay?" Blaine asks hopefully.

"Of course," Kurt says, squeezing back. He's waited months to hold Blaine's hand.

Kurt doesn't know what happens now. All he knows is that Blaine's home, he's _home_ and _alive, _and Kurt thinks he might still be in shock. As they walk down the pier together, the same pier they walked down all those months ago, Kurt glances at Blaine out of the corner of his eyes, only to find him with the same goofy smile on his face. And Kurt knows whatever happens, he just wants to be with Blaine. He's happy just to be here with Blaine's hand tangled in his.

**Okay, you caught me, I just couldn't kill Blaine. I don't think I'm capable of it, and least not without dissolving in a puddle of my own tears. But I hope you enjoyed this long oneshot! Tell me what you think, lovelies! Thanks!**

**hope**


End file.
